The Sinners
by Dark Raven Wrote
Summary: Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.  It has been...my whole life since my last confession and I just kissed a man.


_A/N: I would strongly advise that anyone strongly Christian continue at their own risk as flames following offence will not be tolerated. Also, I don't really know about this sort of thing in the religion but it's going to stay like this even if it's inaccurate. Call it artistic liscense._

_**I would like to point out THIS STORY IS COMPLETE.**  
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_Please enjoy and review._

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><p><strong>The Sinners<br>**

"So, you're saying that you won't talk to me?" Ginny's eyes flashed angrily and she took another intimidating step towards him.

"I can't, Ginny. Not to you. It's too personal," he replied, edging away from her along the whitewash wall of their flat's entrance hall. He watched his girlfriend simmer, metaphorical steam puffing out of her ears and through her flaming hair.

"Well, you need to talk to someone!" Ginny's temper flared up further and he felt the bursting of her frustration into the air like volcano lava bubbling to the surface of the pool. "Hermione! Seamus! God, talk to Ron if you have to! Although I don't know what good it'll do you."

"I can't. Too personal. I told you." Harry hated it when Ginny made him seethe like this; she made it look so easy. He stealthily wriggled a little further towards the cupboard that held his shoes next to the door. The sooner he got out of this confined space the better for his life and his sanity.

Ginny stared at him with an exasperated glint in her eyes and her hands flapping uselessly in front of her as if she wanted to speak but had no words for the situation. Then suddenly, Harry practically saw a gleaming yellow light bulb light up above her head.

"Now, Harry, darling," she simpered annoyingly and he knew he was not going to like this idea at all. "I know you're not a religious man but…" Harry was shaking his head viciously from side to side already in protest. "Just hear me out. But the church I go to with Mum excepts people with troubles even if they're non-believers and I really think you should give it a chance and you don't even have to divulge your identity or looks and…" He listened to Ginny prattling on nervously as he inched his hand around the cupboard door and grabbed the first pair of shoes that felt big enough to be his. He had hoped she wouldn't notice but she narrowed her eyes at him and went quiet and he knew that she knew, especially when she coldly asked, "What are you doing?" in a voice that could have shattered the arctic.

"…er…"

"Well?" Her knuckles pressing firmly to her hips were never a good sign.

"Well…I…the church? Yes! The church! Confession ends in an hour and I-er-thought I should, erm, confess my…er…sins as soon as possible...?" He trailed of his stuttered reply, thanking Merlin, Gryffindor and Circe that he had been able to come up with an excuse and a fact in one single, pressurized sentence. Ginny just glared at him before throwing her hands up in a frustrated surrendering motion.

As he was turning to shut the front door, Harry glimpsed her striding meaningfully back towards the lounge, towards the telephone he might add, determinedly and he just knew she was going to set someone following him.

He spent a minute slipping on his shoes before he moved off down the street, keeping an eagle eye out for anyone he knew that she could have fire called and ordered to spy on him. Several names came to mind. He hoped it was Ron, then he could convince him after sitting in the church, which he had not planned on originally doing but now the risk was too great, that he was done soul-searching and that the best idea would be to grab a pint at the bustling pub they often visited on their days off.

He was two streets away from their shared flat when he saw the tell-tale flash of ginger hair flurrying behind a rhino shaped hedge. It was another four streets before he decided he'd let Ron or one of the twins, whichever Ginny had bossed into the job, have their fun for the day and turned sharply towards them with his head cocked and an eyebrow raised.

He heard a comical 'meep' from behind the offending, scarlet post-box and Ron stepped sheepishly out from behind the vulgar red object. Maybe he did have a little luck today then.

"Hey there…Harry," he murmured shamefully, ducking his head further into his coat collar. Harry rolled his eyes and gestured with his chin for his friend to walk with him. "Where are we going this time?"

"She didn't tell you?"

"She was in a bit of a hurry. Babbled for a couple of seconds too fast for me to make anything out and then shrieked at me like a banshee to follow you pronto. So how did I do?" Ron asked, skipping along with far too much energy beside him, probably referring to his spying technique.

"Saw you second street. Giving time for Ginny's call and travel time, I'd say you lasted a couple of seconds at best."

"Damn, not even a street? Pathetic." He snarled to himself as they made a right turn down another deserted street. "What gave me away?" Harry glanced at him from the corner of his eye, chuckling when he saw the perplexed, down turned expression on his face as if it was impossible that he could have done something wrong after spending so much time planning for this venture.

"The theme tune." Harry knew he should have been ashamed that he and Ron had turned this into a game when Ginny took it all so seriously.

"Damn it, I knew I should have kept it internal." Ron cursed, stamping his foot childishly.

"It's understandable, pressure of the moment and all." They shared a humorous smile that only true friends have the ability to do and then both turned sombre at exactly the same moment as if they were wired into the same frequency, which was altogether possible as they'd known each other for so long. "We're on our way to church."

"We're what?" Ron exclaimed indignantly and stopped walking, expecting his friend to turn immediately and explain. Which Harry did.

"Ginny reckons I need to talk to someone. Get rid of last minute nerves. Since I refuse to talk to anyone I know - sorry Ron, no offence," he smiled slightly at Ron's shrug and understanding hand motion for him to continue, "Ginny says I should talk to God, or his messenger."

Ron frowned.

"So, let me get this straight," he said as they continued on at their original pace, "we're walking all this way so you can talk to a priest about last minute wedding jitters?"

"Yeah, that's about it."

"Whatever, mate, I'm all for the whole talking business and you know I'm here for you if you want to but I'm really not into the religious scene. I'll meet you in the pub when you're done."

"Sure, Ron."

"I warn you though. You're not there in an hour, I tell Ginny."

"Wouldn't expect any less of you. See you in an hour then." Harry waved a vacant farewell and heading around the next corner, chuckling to himself as an image of Ron in a sparkling, pink cape humming the theme to Mission Impossible and ducking behind bushes came to his mind.

The church was smaller than he had expected. He thought it would be a spacious place that was empty and made his voice echo eerily. He expected statues and stain glass windows at every corner, what he saw when he got there was a single colourful window above the moderate alter of a baby being cradled by its pale blue cloth swamped mother. It was only big enough to hold a congregation of about thirty at maximum and a small confessional booth in a back corner.

No one was sitting in any of the five rows of pews when Harry slipped through the partially open double doors. The threadbare, maroon carpet scrunched uncomfortably under his trainer clad feet and he fought a sneeze as his footsteps across to the nearest bench disturbed the newest layer of dust.

He didn't want to be seen here. He wanted to run and hide in the curtained booth at the back and pretend he hadn't walked through the door.

So he did.

It was a little, cramped, dingy place, the dull green curtain blocking out every speckle of light that was trying desperately to get through to him. The small bench was unpadded, simple wood as dark as the rest of the box. The wooden wall that divided the box had a black, metal grill with curling flowers of steel sprawled across it.

Harry slumped down on the bench, yanking the curtain across the rail as he fell. He was alone with the sound of his own breathing, haunting him. Why did even come here? On the vigorous demand of his fiancé? Did that mean he was scared of the outcome if he disobeyed her? Harry couldn't help the snort at that thought. It wasn't that he was frightened of Ginny, although she did have a pretty colourful temper, but then he knew he had a temper to match and could hold his own.

It was more the looks he would get for his ignoring her orders and therefore lying to her. Mrs Weasley inviting him into her home and giving him a disappointed look as she slopped some mashed potato on his dinner plate. Percy's condescending sneer at his attitude towards the moral high ground. Mr Weasley's saddened eyes glancing mournfully over at him as if he couldn't see him while they gossiped after eating and he and Ginny put up the perfect façade of a perfectly happy couple. And of course, there was Hermione, who would have that look in her eye whenever he glanced at her and the lecture he would receive. The worst were the disappointed looks, as if he had let them down in some way.

Harry heaved another sigh and banged his head lightly back against the wall, wishing for some relief or any idea to come with the slight pain. The box creaked and he jumped, scuttling further along the bench and away from the partition.

"You have come to confess your sins?" Asked a soft, polished voice with a lulling musical quality that implemented the compulsion to trust it with even the deepest of offences.

"It's more like hiding." Harry said tentatively, still leaning away from the new person. He felt uncomfortable with the fact that he was sitting so close to another human being and yet had no idea what they looked like or who they were. Well, he knew moderately well who he was, the Priest, but Ginny had never mentioned his name or what he looked like.

"Ahh, I see," he replied and Harry had the distinct feeling that he did. "Why in the confessional booth?"

"It's dark, a good place for hiding, in a corner, tucked away." Harry's voice was quiet to his own ears but it still echoed through the shadowed space and he was positive the other life heard him clearly enough.

"Should you be hiding?" Came the murmured question. Harry was captivated by the way that voice was so gentle and didn't resound at all but he still caught every syllable flawlessly.

"Probably not, but I needed an escape." From Ginny, Harry thought silently.

"Did you want to talk about it? It could be possible that, on some subconscious level, you do and felt a complete stranger was the best option." The voice lifted a little as if to convince Harry that this was the best idea. His conversation with Ginny replayed in his mind from that morning. 'I can't. Too personal. I told you.' Half an hour ago he was wishing for a stranger he could automatically trust to talk to, now, one was being plonked straight into his lap without him realising it. A Priest. Maybe Ginny was smarter than he gave her credit for.

"I don't like feeling trapped in." He said, trying to be as cryptic as possible. He knew he would eventually divulge all the information to this man, but that didn't stop him from putting it off as long as he possibly could.

"Says he who is sitting in an enclosed space."

"Within my social life. I don't like the pressure at the moment."

"Tell me."

"I'm not part of the church."

"I am bound by the Lord not to repeat or interfere outside of these walls." Harry bit his lip nervously. Damn his trusting nature.

"My fiancée is becoming rather assertive." Harry paused to play that over again in his head and realized how harsh he sounded. "No, that makes me sound like a right wanker…oh G-my, I'm sorry." He stuttered, trying desperately not to insult this man.

"Continue. I will not judge you."

"She never used to be like that. She's become quite controlling. I don't think I ever really wanted to marry her actually. I was quite content before she…her par-…no, just, everyone brought it up." Harry babbled more to himself than to his new confidant. He had never thought about his situation in too much depth before this moment, it was more a case of outrunning everything than thinking about it.

"Just content? Not happy?" Said the Priest soothingly.

"Yes, just content. I don't think I'd know true happiness even if it came and bit me in the arse. And now I sound like a self-pitying git. How can you stand listening to other people twittering on about themselves like this?"

"Not everyone twitters. You're procrastinating. Tell me. I can sense you want to."

"Can I give her a code name? She comes here."

"Do as you like."

"Brazen. We'll call her Brazen."

"I take it that is a significant name." Harry chuckled low in the back of his throat.

"Brazen and I met in school, high school. She's a year younger than me but I was best friends with her older brother. I'm an orphan you see and my relatives, well, we never really saw eye-to-eye. Their family, I guess you could say they practically adopted me. I barely spent any time with my relatives. When we weren't at the boarding school, which I had been enrolled in at birth by my parents, I could usually be found spending my holidays with them. They were like my family.

"So, in my last year it was only natural that we got together, she was a good companion. Now a couple of years on people are expecting, Brazen included, that we're going to marry. Her Mother's already arranging everything, I mean, I haven't even proposed and she's already ordered the cake and bought the dress.

"It's all getting out of hand. I can't talk to any of them either. Brazen doesn't understand, nor do any of her family, even my best mate, nor do any of my friends. She said I needed to talk to someone and if it couldn't be her then…"

Harry stopped. It felt like a dam was breaking in his mind, launching sentence after sentence, word after word out of his mouth without his approval. But despite the sense of relief he felt, the nagging feeling that he didn't know this man was still tingling at the back of his mind. Come to think of it he didn't even have any proof it was actually the Priest. Shouldn't he have been thinking of this man as the enemy? He was Ginny's connection, not his. For all he knew he could go tattling to her as soon as he got to the pub to meet Ron. Then all hell would be freed - was it just him or was that ironic, being caused by a Priest and all.

"Then?"

"I shouldn't be telling you this." Harry shuffled away from the grill, only realising then that he had shifted so his nose was almost pressed against the metal and he could see flashes of ivory and a pale gold in the darkness through the small gaps.

"What's stopping you from asking her? Don't you want to be unified in the eyes of God?"

"I'm not religious," Harry muttered defiantly.

"But she is. Don't you want to make her happy?"

Harry stared down at his hands, thoughtfully. Yes, he did want Ginny to be happy. But he knew he couldn't do that, although the reason was still submerged in the depths of denial.

"Yes. But I can't do that for her." He felt shame. He was admitting to a stranger that he didn't want to marry but he couldn't confront the woman herself. He was such a coward. He wasn't worthy of sitting at the same table as her let alone lying in the same bed as her at night, praying she would leave him be for another night.

"Why?" The ever soft voice coaxed him, tender by now and growing relaxingly familiar by the second. Harry didn't answer. He didn't want to answer. It was wrong, so wrong. He wanted to hang onto those shreds of denial just that little bit longer.

He didn't know how long they sat in silence. Perhaps it was hours, although he doubted it. Probably only minutes, it felt like days. The Priest seemed to realise, as if he had some sort of a sixth sense, that Harry wasn't going to answer.

"The confessional will be closed for the next week because of building work; winter's coming and the roof leaks. You can find me in my office at the back whenever you need me. I'll talk to you whenever you're ready. You leave first; I wouldn't want to betray your trust by taking a peek to see who you are." He fell silent and Harry desperately wished he didn't feel the guilt that enveloped him, he didn't even know why, and despite the kind dismissal, he felt himself disliking it.

"Yes." He merely answered, although he didn't think there had been a question anywhere in the speech so he didn't know what he was answering to. But before he could contemplate too deeply on his answer he was ripping the curtain aside and scurrying back out the way he had entered.

The pub was crowded as usual when he walked in, pretending indifference he didn't feel. Actually his heart was still racing but he passed it off as a side effect of the run here.

Ron was sitting at the bar, cradling his beer in his palms when he shimmied through the crowd to drop onto the relatively clean barstool beside him. He obviously deemed the resulting 'oof' of exhale extreme enough to warrant a sideways glance before he took another gulp of golden honeyed liquid.

"That bad, eh?" Ron chuckled, flicking the barman over, who was ambling around questioningly glancing to see if his customers needed anything, with a calculated twist of his wrist and bob of his head.

"What can I get ya, Ronny?" At one time, Ron would have gritted his teeth at the name, but soon after coming to this particular establishment the name had become just part of the experience, familiar and warming.

"Another bitter for Harry here. Put it on my tab." He grunted.

"Look like you've had a rough day, Green eyes," he said sympathetically, looking at Harry's mass of black hair and using another of the many nicknames he had labelled them with. "It's on the house, mate." Harry smiled up at him before quickly ducking back down to hide his face.

An hour later, Harry could feel his rational thought starting to buzz uncomfortably, the only cure being drinking some more and addling his brain completely. Ron was busy chatting up the barmaid who had just come on duty while Harry sat back and appreciated the normalcy of the scene, swearing to himself that, just this once, he wouldn't tell Hermione.

It was verging on nine O'clock when they stumbled out of the pub, Ron slouching heavily on Harry's shoulder and Harry was already playing the oncoming argument with Ginny in his head as he blocked out his friend's drunken mumblings. First she would pinpoint the alcohol on his breath, even though his mind had cleared from the chill wind and the uneven cobbles under his feet that he found worked rather well on an intoxicated mind. Then she would zero in on why he was back so late before moving on to the subject of his visit to the church, a conversation which no doubt would dominate the evening.

After dumping Ron back on the doorstep of the flat he shared with Hermione - they insisted they were only roommates but Harry saw the looks, even if that was true, it wouldn't be for long - and declining some tea, Harry headed back to where he and Ginny lived, taking his time to sober up before he arrived.

"Where have you been?" Came Ginny's shriek the second the door was opened before him, she then proceeded to rip it from his horror-struck fingers and wrench it open. She sniffed at the air around him experimentally, and scowled. "Have you been drinking." It wasn't a question and her voice was already low and threatening. Harry shrugged off the feeling that she was crushing him into a corner and toed off his shoes, slid around her and headed down the hall. "Don't you turn your back on me, Harry Potter!" It was unusual for Ginny to be wound up so early in an argument so he turned around to investigate.

"I was at the church." He said, shuffling backwards into the lounge. She strode towards him.

"Drinking?" She asked, drilling her fists into her hips and tapping her foot impatiently.

"Then I went to the pub." At this rate she was going to find out Ron had been caught…and then abandoned her.

"Not alone, I shouldn't think. Who did you meet there?" Ron would be in tremendous trouble if she knew. Harry begged for a light switch to flick.

"Just a friend. I don't see them very often so I thought, why not, spare of the moment thing when I came out of the church." He babbled back, hoping she believed him. A thoughtful expression crossed her face until a look of sudden realisation struck.

"Harry," she said solemnly, "are you cheating on me?" Tears were forming in the corner of her eyes.

"No, Gin, of course not. I haven't seen him in a while, that's all." She nodded shamefully and then asked the inevitable. "How did it go? With the Priest I mean."

"Fine," Harry said, flopping uselessly down onto the sofa, completely aware that his unhelpful answer would annoy the hell out of her. He was right. Her scowl intensified and she took a menacing step forwards.

"What did he say?"

"I thought the whole point of going to speak to him was so I didn't have to talk about these personal problems with people close to me." Ginny looked taken aback.

"Well…it's just…" The flicker of her eyes off to the left and the blush on her cheeks made what she was trying to say painfully obvious and as much as he wanted to make her go through the pain of saying it, he was tired and decided to end her suffering.

"You thought he'd tell me to come back and talk to you, right?"

"Well, yes…but-"

"Look, Ginny," he cut her off, "I don't want to and he didn't. Now, if you don't mind, I'm really quite tired and want to sleep. I'll be in the spare room." He hoped the tagged on sentence would get across to her the seriousness of the situation. He jumped up with more energy than he felt he had and strode to the hallway that housed the doors to all the other rooms except the kitchen. He paused to glance over his shoulder at her with his hand on the doorknob. "By the way, he's under confidence. He won't tell you what I said."

As he swung the door shut behind him, he saw her glare at him in an affronted way. But just as the door was hiding her from view he swore he saw her face fall, plan foiled. Harry knew the situation was bad. Very bad.

Ginny was already gone when he woke the next morning.

It was another argument, which was loud enough to drive their neighbours out of their own homes, that made Harry storm out of the house two weeks later. Their relationship had been strained and tense. Evening spent dodging each other between rooms and nights spent on the lumpy mattress in the spare bedroom, at least for Harry.

There had been looks and powerful silences. Questions that made him want to strangle her and evasive answers that made her want to knee him fiercely, but no outright rows as such.

This one came as no shock though. If anything, Harry felt they had been building up to it, making it an inevitable future, which had now become present.

He didn't even really know what they had argued about, just that it had her so mad that she had thrown one of her favourite vases - one of the ones her mother had given her at their unofficial engagement party which had never even happened thank you very much! - and smashed it against the wall behind Harry's head. On his part, it was probably better for him to be away from her when his explosive temper reached breaking point as it had now, just in case he did something he would regret for the rest of his life.

But therein lay the next problem. It was nine o'clock at night. None of his friends were neutral and, as a result, he had nowhere to go.

The only obvious place was the pub...right?

It was reassuringly the same as always when he stepped through the doors. Bubbling over with people chatting jovially and mostly well on their way to intoxicated. The bartended jogged up and down the length of the bar, scampering from one patron to another. It was all set and the same as the way he had left it. Constant.

The bartender, whose name Harry could not remember for the life of him, strode to him immediately completely ignoring a waving tankard waiting for a refill as he passed.

"Looks like it's been another difficult one again, eh, Green eyes?" His lips curled down and in his foul mood it looked slightly patronising to Harry.

"Just give me a couple of shots, would you?" he grunted, breaking eye contact swiftly. "Strongest you've got."

He swung round on his barstool, a plain dismissal. A woman near him winked in his direction and he snarled back at her, not caring to apologise at affronted look he received. In front of him a couple were slow dancing to the background music, which was much too fast might he add, with sickeningly soppy stars shining in their teary eyes.

Harry yanked himself round on the bar to find the bartender had moved off and four shots of some clear liquid in front of him as well as some mixed drink. He threw them all back, consecutive and quick, his throat burning and his eyes damp by the fourth.

Three hours continued on whatever tasteless liquid ad been placed in front of him. He knew it should taste of something but his mind was so clouded his tongue was picking up no sense of taste whatsoever.

"Green eyes?" Harry whirled around on his seat, toppling of the slippery fabric. Nimble hands caught him on either side of his waist. "Green eyes? You alright?"

He tried to reply but his mouth felt like it was full of felt. A single, low noise managed to worm its way out, but nothing more.

"You're in a state. Come on, I'm closing up. I'll help you out. You can pay next time." The bartender tugged lightly at his abdomen and Harry's ill-balanced body had no choice but to follow him, his feet stumbling underneath him. Harry only processed about three words of what he had said anyway.

The lights outside were dim; few streetlamps had survived the gang wars that plagued this area, but the moon was near full and Harry could see rather clearly, even if the world was spinning upside down.

"W'sa nm?" Harry slurred into the barman's shoulder and he suddenly realised that this definitely was a man, hard muscle and steady support confirmed it even if the lack of breasts was a relatively certain hint.

He could feel himself being examined as he slid and slipped his way along the cobbles under his unsteady feet and he suddenly, illogically, hoped his hair wasn't too much of a mess.

"Theo."

Harry beamed up at him, taking in how close they were. And suddenly he felt very sober in the chilly breeze. The moonlight drifted like fog through his sandy brown hair and his eyes glowed a brighter brown than he remembered. Skin ashen and smooth and lips more bowed than he had imagined they would be up close. Very nice. Harry nodded to himself despite the strange, amused half-smile he got as a result.

"Where am I taking you then?" Theo murmured into his ear, his breath whistling over Harry's neck and crackling the nerves that lay there. Harry shivered.

He couldn't help it. It was like it was programmed into him at that moment. He'd never thought he'd actually do it, he'd only ever dreamed about doing it.

He reached up and pressed his lips, dry, cracked and feather-light, against the rosy ones above him. A moment of weakness or an innocent experiment, he said to himself as he boldly flicked his tongue out and...met cold air.

A silence that could have deafened and a stillness so absolute Harry wondered if time had stopped followed. It was long, although probably doubled by his stuttering brain he thought when he reflected on his memories of the moment. He wasn't even sure why he'd done it in the first place.

Theo was staring at him expectantly as if nothing had happened but Harry could feel the air crackling with tension, and not a good kind, between them.

"G-Godric Drive."

"Right," he said. Harry thought he heard him grind his jaw.

It was only ten paces later that Harry decided to risk walking on alone. He'd rather die tragically by the road side than suffocate of the silence.

He was sick five times before he reached the flat and another two in the spare bathroom before he made it to his lumpy mattress which he had recently come to call home.

He supposed he deserved it.

His alarm clock showed it to be three in the morning when he peeled his eyes open. His stomach was rolling, his breath stank and he could feel the stickiness of sweat plastering his clothes to his skin all over his body.

He knew immediately what he'd done only hours ago and his head span at the implications of it all. What was wrong with him?

Panic shuddered up his spine. His feet spasmed under his thin blanket. His hands shook and his breathing laboured. And as stupid as it felt and sounded he felt like there was only one place he could go.

This couldn't wait until morning though.

His shower was not the most pleasant experience, especially when he discovered the vomit in his hair. He didn't even want to think about how that got there.

When he made it to the front door it was with a red t-shirt that clashed terribly with his god awful blue trousers - where had he gotten them from anyway. He was still wearing his slippers, but they were the easiest thing to put on and he couldn't seem to keep his feet still.

He planned on running the whole way so he didn't bother with a jacket. Keys in hand, he rammed through the door, making sure to slam it for his own satisfaction, viciously hoping it woke Ginny, and immediately feeling guilty afterwards.

The streets were silent, pleasantly so. The suffocating feeling from earlier had dissipated in the early morning fog that had rolled over, even though the sun would not rise for another few hours. The sound of his feet pounding against the pavement was dampened by the soft material but the steady puffing of his breathing echoed around him.

The Priest had been completely serious about the roof repairs. Scaffolding still clung to some of the ancient building, left over bones of the original skeleton. No lights were on inside. The heavy doors were locked.

Fortunately, Harry doubted this was the only way in or out and it made sense for the priest to live around the back.

He began stalking along the side path immediately. Nothing but there was a small building behind the church that he would have dismissed had a light not been sparkling dimly in the porch.

He wrapped on the glass panel incessantly. It quivered under his fist but showed no signs of giving way.

A full ten minutes of this, constant and hopefully annoying enough to rouse someone from bed, another light flicked on further into the building, which appeared to be larger than the moss and ivy covered exterior first made it seem.

"What?"

Harry whipped his hand behind his back bashfully, as if that would hide the fact that it had been him rapping on the door.

The man before him was dressed only in a black dressing gown. Tall and slim frame, angular and smooth face. His blonde hair was ruffled from the hours of sleep his eyes betrayed he had been in the middle of enjoying. His eyes were a startling blue, like electric and lightning.

"Erm..." It was at this moment that Harry realised he wasn't even sure what he had some here for, and at four o'clock in the morning at that. What right did he have?

"Have you seen the time?" A screeching voice blasted into his ears. "You had better have a blooming good reason for waking me up at this time of night."

"Ah...yes..." Harry sucked in a lungful of air for courage. "Are you the priest here?" He hoped he was; his extremities were beginning to feel the cold standing on this doorstep.

"I might be. Who wants to know?"

"...I don't think you are..." Harry retreated slightly from the step, biting his lip nervously.

"And why not? Why is that so hard to believe?" His eyes were wide and disbelieving, which gave Harry the opportunity to admire the contrast between his snowy skin and the icy fire of his irises.

"Well I thought priests were meant to be, well you know, nice. The one I met before was."

The man stood back and examined him. "You've been here before. I don't recognise you from any of the services," he said suspiciously, his eyes narrowing again.

"Erm, no you wouldn't have. I'm not religious." For the second time that night, Harry felt like he was being examined from the tips of his messy hair, over the round rims of his glasses all the way down to the slippers on his feet, now rather muddy and unsuitably for home use.

"I see."

Harry shuffled his foot self-consciously and worried his lip some more.

"Well I suppose it would be awfully rude to just leave you out here in the cold when you've come seeking charity..." Harry peered up at him hopefully from under his flopping fringe. "...But then again you did wake me up in the middle of the night, which isn't very nice." Harry opened his mouth to protest and snapped it shut at a warning glance. "However, as I am the priest here I suppose I should be supportive of you."

Harry found himself being ushered through a tiny room and out the other side into what seemed to be a mixture of a kitchen, dining room, bedroom and lounge. Tasteful decorations of emerald and shimmering silver covered the room; wrapping the double bed, spread on the soft carpet, climbing up the walls. The small counter space of the kitchenette shone like dragon's eyes in firelight. Even the armchair hidden in the corner next to a dark wood bookshelf was a glowing, jewel green.

Harry settled himself as the strong hand on his shoulder directed him, on an expensive looking rug in front of a burning fire.

The priest stared at him for an extended period of time before he settled himself into his armchair and murmured something unintelligible to himself.

"You're the Brazen boy, yes?"

It was strange, Harry thought, how he immediately picked on the wrong part of that sentence to comment on. Maybe he was just looking for reasons to be historical.

"I'm not a boy! I'm twenty-three years old!" He got a speculative look for his trouble. "Okay, okay, twenty-five, but don't push it."

The priest smiled smugly.

"So, do you have a name at all?"

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." The way he said it was arrogant, as if Harry should have heard of him or at least his family. But there wasn't even a faint buzz of recollection in the back of his brain. He did snort with laughter at the way he flung his head back to shake out the mane of blond hair atop his head though as if the whole world should bask in his presence.

"And I'm Harry," he couldn't help the smile that crept to his lips.

"Just Harry?"

"Just Harry."

"And, pray tell, what are you doing thumping on my door at this godforsaken hour of the morning?"

Harry pondered for a second before once more focusing on entirely the wrong thing. "I thought nothing was godforsaken, especially to a holy man..." His brow furrowed and he stared intently at this near stranger.

"Au Contraire, as a holy man I have all the more reason to believe there are in fact godforsaken times...wait, wait, wait," he interrupted himself, glaring at Harry and flapping his hands slightly on the arms of his chair. Harry could not help but notice the length of his fingers. "Door. Thumping. Explain!"

He pounded once on the chair with a weak fist before all energy seemed to vacate him and he slouched back against the softness of the cushions.

"I'm not entirely sure actually. Thought it was a good place to go. Last resort." Harry shrugged his shoulders noncommittally and stared up at the priest with big, hopeful eyes.

He received an even, unblinking glare. "Firstly, I would like to protest at the very _thought_ of being _anyone's_ last resort. Secondly, even if I did know you, what makes you think it would be neighbourly to rap on someone's door so early? I was comfortably asleep."

"I thought you were a man of the people!" Harry piped.

"People who are asleep like a good, little flock, yes. You're not even a believer anyway!"

Harry settled for snarling and collapsing backwards until his back hit something. The priest sighed, raising those elegant fingers and rubbing aggressively at his temples as if to relieve the pressure stored there. Harry was busy being captivated by the way the flickering fire light caught on his pale skin to notice much else.

"Alright, how long do you want to stay?" Draco said, defeated, dropping his head and running a hand through his bed ragged hair, effectively pushing the few loose strands from his eyes.

"What? Just like that?" Harry perked up onto his knees, privately taking a moment from his sudden excitement to enjoy the warm embers glowing at his back.

"Well I can't just throw you out, can I?" Harry was about to answer but a swift, zipping hand gesture stopped him. "You can have the pull out from under the bed. And before you ask, no, I don't do charity cases often. The bathrooms through there," he made a vague gesture Harry decided he'd decipher later, "and now, I'm going back to bed."

And that seemed to be the end of it. Harry felt rather dismissed, much like they had been reading the lines of a play the entire time and now the unfinished script had jaggedly stopped to a teetering halt.

It probably should have been the real end to it as well. Harry should have returned to confront his reality the next morning with a clear head and good advice fresh in is brain.

But instead he found himself putting the kettle on seven days later, as had become their recent nightly routine. Two sugars and a dash of milk.

Draco was reading some continentally sized book in his armchair as was usual and the fire was lit, ready for Harry to bathe in front of it.

It was that night that he decided, while passing the hot to burning cup to his companion, that he could no longer ignore the way their fingers brushed. It was pure, illogical torture. Just a soft brush of skin against perfectly innocent skin should not do that to someone, should it? Although Harry could think of plenty of not very innocent things Draco could be doing with those hands. The way he turned the paged of his old books; just the twitch of his fingers and a graceful, lightning quick curve of his wrist, like he was swatting an annoyance, was driving him crazy.

Harry swallowed, suddenly worried that the whole world could hear his thoughts. He tore his eyes away from Draco's lap only to discover his eyes on him; pinning him. He felt his face redden, a ruddy flush speering down the column of his throat and spreading over the rest of his body.

Priests didn't do that sort of thing though. Surely there was some rule against fraternization with...well, anybody...?

But Draco's nails were scratching at the spine of his closed book - when had he done that? - as he considered him, analysed him, searching for what Harry didn't know.

It felt like he was an onlooker watching in slow motion a scene he was not part of and had no control over as Draco bent forward in his chair. His spine curled and, graceful like a prowling tiger commencing its newest hunt, he fell forward onto his knee, landing on the rich carpet without a sound. The book slipped from his fingertips as he slid forward. Harry didn't think he'd ever seen such fire in a single person's eyes before, like molten metal and phoenix flame bursting through a steaming glacier. Harry's cheeks flushed further to the point that he worried how ugly it must look, but to be looked at like that, watched, _hunted_!

His thighs quivered under him and for a second he worried he would come with no other stimulus than fierce eyes and lunar skin. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheek with the imagined brush of a palm on his arm; although Draco did not actually lay his hand on him he still felt the burning heat from the nearness of his palm.

His breath puffed from his mouth. He wasn't sure if his panting was from the sheer heat of the room or the intensity rolling between them. Maybe a combination of both seeing as the man before seemed to be the main source of burning in the room at that second, not the crackling fire behind him, lazy in comparison.

When their lips met it was like an inferno to Harry. His throat clogged with the embers, smouldering heat all through his lungs and into his veins. Flushing through his body and searing him from the inside out. But it was such a wonderful, longing agony.

The lips against his were coaxing and tantalizing. One moment there, one moment gone. The gushing flames licked at Harry's mind and his thoughts could not keep up with the torturous glory. He shoved forward, sucking a slick tongue into his mouth as he went, guiding it between his teeth. He would have been embarrassed by the breathy little moan that escaped past the swirling in his throat if he hadn't been so far gone. As it was, he just marvelled momentarily at the vibration of his vocal chords under the palm that seized and tugged at the base of his neck before his attention was taken by the feel of fingers yanking his hair and softness at his back.

Draco was atop him, his flaming body covering Harry. Teeth nipped at his neck, his chest - where had his shirt gone? - and down his stomach as hands worked their way lower. Harry fleetingly observed that Draco seemed to know _exactly_ what he was doing before his vision was crimson and violet and tight heat engulfed his cock.

His spine ached with the arch he forced upon it, some supernatural force giving him strength as he plunged up into the kiss-reddened mouth awaiting him. He felt a tear roll down the side of his face at the pressure building in his gut, making the muscles of his stomach quiver and shudder with effort.

His heart hammered in his ears as he shoved upward despite the mildly resisting hands stroking warningly at his hipbones, marking them scarlet and raw.

And then it was gone. Replaced by swift and sure fingers. His mouth was being plundered again before he could even break the rhythm of his rutting thrusts.

He shoved his hands down Draco's front, yanking at the elasticated waist of his sleeping shorts, impatient and with less finesse than he would have liked. But what did he care when that full, heavy weight was finally in his palm and the musky scent in the air absorbed through his skin down to a cellular level it was so strong.

His head was buzzing and dizzy like he was drunk. His hands clumsy and disorganised. His panting loud. His grunts animalistic. His straining member jumping with excitement. His thrusts sporadic and spastic. He felt like the most inadequate human to have ever lived. But when he came, the feel of liquid already coating his soft palm and Draco's pulse still hammering into his hand, it was pristine and perfect and _fire_.

"We weren't really allowed to do that were we," Harry murmured against the blazing, sweaty skin of Draco's neck.

"Absolutely not," he imagined the smirk above his head, "but you don't strike me as the kind of person who follows the rules."

Harry nipped him. Hard.

* * *

><p><em>I know it moves a bit suddenly but well, that's how it happened.<em>

_Hope you enjoyed it._

_If so please leave a review._

_Bella  
><em>


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